


Find me Tuesdays

by Axolotl7



Series: Fluffy one-shots - Six Months May was "Away" from Shield [5]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: BAMF Melinda May, Fluff, Gen, Team Bonding, mama may
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-26
Updated: 2015-10-26
Packaged: 2018-04-28 07:39:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5083423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Axolotl7/pseuds/Axolotl7
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>.</p><p>Fitz needs help.<br/> </p><p>Another short little fluffy team fic set pre-season three.</p><p>Because May does not just abandon her ducklings for six months!<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	Find me Tuesdays

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks as always to Devilgrrl for making this somewhat readable.

Fitz’ POV

After three days he’s almost regretting it. 

Almost.

Three days that he’s sat in the dark. Well, that’s what his watch says anyway. He’s almost grateful that he’s always worn the old thing – it’s of no value to anyone, this worn leather wristwatch, so it is of course the only thing they’ve let him keep before shoving down the steps into this dank and fusty basement. 

He’s no idea what they’re even keeping him for. He hopes that it’s ransom they’re intending or that they’ll at least be putting a call out to someone, somewhere. They can’t mean just to leave him to die down here surely?

He regrets not telling anyone where he was going. That’s a definite regret to chalk up. At least if he’d mentioned it to someone or left a note or something then there might be a chance of rescue irrespective of his captors’ intentions. But he didn’t want anyone to try to stop him, he didn’t want to risk that they might succeed in blocking his attempts to find more information, that they might consider the risk too great when compared to the potential reward. The risk of his life is nothing compared to the possibility of rescuing Jemma.

He doesn’t regret taking the chance. Even if it ends in his death, he doesn’t regret it. 

Not really.

He had to take the chance.

He can’t live without her.

He only regrets that if he dies, he won’t even be able to save her. 

 

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The unexpected glare of the light from an open doorway has him squinting to try to make out features on a dark form that skip past the light and down the stairs towards him. He hasn’t the energy to muster any particular concern though it is surprising that they’ve someone who is now checking up on him when there’s been no human contact for three days. They move swiftly, almost silently and he has a quite justifiable concern that he’s hallucinating a ninja shadow visiting him before he dies.

When the shadow touches the sleeve of his jacket with solidity he’s wide awake, scrambling backwards across the cold stone floor to get away from the beast that is now more real than his imagination with an oath.

That the shadow ninja swears quietly too surprises him more than the words that follow, “Fitz, it’s me! Did they give you anything? Any drugs? Any injections at all?”

“May?!”

Her hands cupping either side of his face as she squats before him, holding his head up as she looks directly in his eyes. He’s too relieved to be concerned. She shakes his head gently when he doesn’t answer, repeating her questions, “Fitz, concentrate. Have they injected you with any drugs? It’s important. Have you eaten anything? Drunk anything that they’ve given to you?”

“May,” he confirms and smiles. If May is here then everything is going to be alright. She’ll save him and then she’ll save Jemma and they can go back to being a team again. Maybe he can even use that reservation finally. His own hands reach up to touch her wrists; just checking that she is definitely here, definitely real. She is. He can’t help but pull her forwards, despite her slight resistance, until he’s holding her in his arms. He ignores how she immediately stiffens when his arms band tightly round her back, ignores how she looks away over the top of his head as he turns his cheek to rest upon her much lower chest, ignores the discomfort she radiates because just right now he needs this more than he needs to respect her “Agent May” space. He needs to hold her tightly, needs to convince himself that she is really here, that everything will be alright again now. 

With a sigh, she concedes, her body loosening as her arms come up around him. “I’ve got you, Leo,” she murmurs, “I’ll get you out of here. It’ll be okay.” 

When she pulls away, he lets her go, and he answers her questions as best as he can whilst trying to get his legs to co-operate with the idea of not just supporting his bodyweight but also moving in a horizontal plane like he’s sure they’ve been doing fairly successfully for the past twenty years of his life. May is under one arm, supportive every step of the way, catching him when he stumbles so that he doesn’t introduce his face to the ground with crashing familiarity, and how has he never noticed how small the woman is until now?

 

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It’s only once she’s got them both safely out and into the front of a dusty old pickup that has certainly seen better days and handed him a bottle of water that seems too clear to be real that his brain starts wanting to work properly. His mouth and tongue finally able to form words that he has wanted to ask since he first realised that she’d come to save him.

“I... I thought you were on leave,” he manages to croak out over a far disused throat.

Her eyes flick across to him from what could charitably be described as a dust track and back again as she drives. “I was,” she states tersely, anger tightly leashed. 

Anger at him no doubt for needing to be rescued. It doesn’t matter. He’s not going to stop looking for information on the obelisk; he’s not going to stop trying to help Jemma.

“How did you know where to find me? I mean, how did you even know I was in trouble?” he presses, needing more information to explain the apparently miraculous escape to his mind’s satisfaction.

“Intel. Other operatives. Contacts maintained in the area. The unusual occurrence of a short arrogant Scottish man who can’t stop talking approaching a gang like the Double Nothings as though they were business compatriots gets a mention,” she reports wryly and they lapse into silence.

He can feel her disapproval as the silence continues unabated.

“More sips,” she urges, tapping the bottom of the bottle he’s casually nursing and he complies without hesitation despite the fact that even the cooling fresh water tastes gritty as it passes over the razorblades of his dry throat. His mind knows that it’s good to keep drinking the small sips even if his body rebels at the idea.

The silence he’s sure is uncomfortable for her just as much as it is for him. Well... maybe not. He certainly feels like he’s waiting for the executioner’s axe to fall. She just seems to be entirely focused upon driving them as fast as possible in the general direction of away.

After the third sigh that escapes him in an hour (thank you raggedy watch), her eyes cut across to his. Her lips tighten with the effort of holding back commentary as she flicks back to watch the road that hasn’t changed noticeably since they left the village.

He can’t stand the studious aura of disapproval any longer! “Look!” he starts strong but almost falters when her eyes catch his, one dark eyebrow raised in question or maybe criticism of his tone, before he gulps and continues onwards anyway, “If you’re going to lecture me then go right ahead because I am not going-”

“-to stop searching for ways to help Simmons?” May interrupts and honestly he’s a little surprised that she knows so much about his mission. It’s one thing to find out he’s being held captive and come to rescue him, it’s another thing to know exactly what he was searching for when he got taken by the gang running (make that ransoming) the research site he needed to access. 

He mumbles an affirmative in response. Then forces himself to rally, this is only Agent May – she is not that scary (he ignores the little voices that tell him ‘oh yes she very much is!’), and looks directly up at her, “so you may as well get it over with.”

Her slight sigh is more physical than audible. “When you get back, speak with Bobbi about training you in the basics. You need to be a better liar if you’re going to survive this long enough to save her. Hunter can give you pointers on the attitude to project – arrogant, devil-may-care, humour to distract if necessary,” she says almost completely ignoring how his mouth has dropped open to catch flies. It doesn’t take his brain long to catch up, however, whirling to life with the additional information, planning for the future.

“Can’t you-” he starts but cuts himself off quickly. She’s done enough just by being here. She’s supposed to be on vacation after all, not rescuing him from his mistakes.

“You find me on Tuesdays, I’ll teach you the rest,” she says as though he’s barely interrupted her flow and he smiles, relieved beyond all scientific ability to measure. If May is on the mission then he knows it will succeed. He just knows it!

“Thanks, May,” he says unable to find the words to express just how thankful he truly is for her help. He’s been so alone in this since Jemma has gone. He hasn’t really been able to explain it to anyone, hasn’t been able to share the burden of going searching for the tiniest scrap of information that might hold a clue. Sk-Daisy has been out focusing on her powers and inhumans and, sure that’s important, but they need to find Jemma first. Priorities! Mack is just as uselessly never around. Bobbi is great but he gets the feeling that she can see right through him every time he talks to her so he’s taken to avoiding her whenever possible. Coulson is just... he’s just The Director now. Since May left and with the whole losing his hand thing, he’s been less Coulson and more The Director than ever before. He’s alone in this. Well... he _was_ alone in this. He smiles. Not anymore he isn’t. Look out obelisk because Agent Melinda May is here to kick your ass and help him rescue Jemma. 

“But you don’t do any more missions until I decide that you’re ready,” May says without inflection. 

He blinks twice before her meaning truly settles in.

“WHAT?!” and yes, he is rationally very much aware in the back of his mind that this is Agent May that he is shouting at but that doesn’t exactly seem to matter very much when she’s just condemned Jemma to death. “NO! Jemma is out there now! She needs help now! Not in a few days-”

“Weeks,” May interjects in a carefully reasonable tone.

“WEEKS?! Who knows what’s happening to her every minute that we sit in this stupid car driving away from the stupid dig site that might just have-”

“Here,” May interrupts again, pulling a wad of papers from inside the left breast of her jacket and handing them over to him. “The top sheet as Dr Govanii’s sat phone number in case you have any follow up questions.”

“Yes, well, this is all very interesting but it’s not just the answer is it. Simmons could be out there, dying. I mean she could be lacking oxygen or in a different timeline or a different ecological climate freezing to death or-”

“She could be dead already,” May summarises and he glares hatred at her for putting it so bluntly. “Or,” she continues before he can say a word to counter her doom and gloom, “she could be holding out whatever the circumstances waiting for us. More likely given how resourceful Agent Simmons can be, she is probably working out how to get back to us herself.”

“So, we do nothing?!”

“I’m not saying that,” she interjects calmly but he’s hearing nothing other than her saying Jemma is dead and that she will prevent him from rescuing her.

“Yes, you are. You’re saying we sit and do nothing because she’s either already dead or will find her own way back. Well what if she can’t? What if she’s hurt? Or what if it only works from this side? You-”

“I’m not saying that,” May tries to interrupt again but he is on a roll and he will not be silenced. For Jemma.

“YOU DIDN’T EVEN COME BACK!” he shouts, well aware that this is the real reason he feels so betrayed by her current refusal. She didn’t come back. Coulson told her that Simmons was missing, he told her that Simmons needed them to rescue her from the obelisk and May... she... she didn’t come back to save her.

She’s quiet for a moment. Still like a snake before the strike. Danger coiled. He doesn’t fear her bite. 

“I can’t fight a rock, Fitz,” she says eventually. She sounds tired, sad. No, exhausted, weary is closer to the truth of both her voice and her slumped shoulders. It makes him ashamed. “If I could have broken into that alien rock with my bare hands to get her out then you know I would have come back,” she continues quietly sorrowful.

“You didn’t even try,” he mumbles sullenly despite his best intentions not to say anything further. 

“I...” she starts and stops. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen her lost and searching for words before. She’s Agent May! She shakes her head as though that’s enough to clear her thoughts. “If I had come back, would you have let me try?”

“Of course,” he’s quick to answer.

Her smile is somewhat mocking as she continues, he’s not sure whether she’s mocking herself or him. “You’d have let me hit it?” she asks sceptically. “After it swallowed Simmons whole, you expect me to believe that you’d have just let me walk up to it, open the containment module and pound furiously at it with my fists?”

“Well-”

“You wouldn’t even have let me in the same room with it as angry as I was when Coulson told me.”

“I-”

Her raised eyebrow says it all.

“Probably not, no,” he concedes quietly, taking another small sip of water as a distraction so that he doesn’t have to face her. Would he have risked her life too, if it had been a chance to save Jemma however limited that possibility? Maybe. That feels wrong though. Very wrong.

“You, doing all this, before you’re ready is just like me banging my fists ineffectually against that rock hoping that it might be enough to get Simmons back. You’ll only end up hurt, Fitz. Or worse. Putting yourself in danger unnecessarily won’t bring Simmons back. It will just get you killed. And if you’re dead, then who will Simmons have left to rescue her?” she finishes quietly. He’s even more stunned by the hand that reaches across the seemingly vast distance to pat his leg in reassurance than by her words. Agent May does not do tactile reassurance. Not ever.

Except now, apparently.

“Are you really Agent May?” he can’t help the words when they escape him suspiciously but given that the corners of her lips twitch upwards in a smile he doesn’t think she minds too much.

“Tell the others that you’re digging through Shield archives offsite. Don’t tell them that I’m training you,” May continues, ignoring his request to clarify her identity. It wasn’t seriously meant anyway. It’s obvious that it’s her. No one else would have put themselves out like this, to come back off vacation and fly halfway around the world to the back of beyond to rescue him when no one else even knew he was missing.

“You’re saying, don’t tell Director Coulson that you’re involved,” he concludes.

Her lips tighten at that and her chin raises as though daring him to comment further as she confirms simply, “I am.”

“Now I know how children of divorcing parents feel,” he mutters. “Don’t tell Dad that you’re up to something fun with Mum behind his back,” he continues quietly but trails off as her eyes narrow and he knows better than to push it any further. He feels a little bit ashamed for mocking the situation when she’s trying to help him actually and ends up letting the silence fall between them again. 

“There’s a note in the glove compartment for you,” she says as they pull up directly behind a plane that looks far too small and his mind immediately starts computing the mass to velocity ratio that they are going to need to maintain flight as well as the high probability that this plane has not been maintained correctly here in the middle of nowhere. He distracts himself quickly by wrenching the compartment open with more force than finesse. A piece of paper is all that sits inside save for a second gun which May quickly reaches across him to take before exiting the vehicle. He quickly unfolds the paper before kicking open the door to join her. Addresses. Four of them.

“Our first meeting places,” she confirms and it’s immediately apparent that she had all of this planned before she even came to rescue him, which makes him feel all warm and fuzzy inside. Not that he’d ever mention it. Never even acknowledge it. Not even internally. Nope. Shut up brain. “Memorise and then burn it,” May continues before heading off towards the death trap with wings, his own feet following knowing that he’d follow her to hell and back anyway. She’s earned that much loyalty from him. That much and more. A little rickety plane with far too much likelihood of crash landing is nothing in comparison to that.

“Can’t hack a piece of paper,” she continues talking over her shoulder. “Sometimes the old ways really are the best.”

Then she stops, spin in place to face him so suddenly that he nearly walks into her as he was staring down at the addresses.

A finger raises before his face, her own expression communicating just how serious she is about this as she speaks slowly emphasising each word with her death glare, “Do not tell Coulson that I just said that.”

He smiles at that, despite what he’s almost certain is a faked glare at him. “How could I, when I’ve not even spoken with you? I’ve been digging through old Shield archives after all,” he replies gamely and enjoys the slight surprise and amusement that flickers across her face an instant before she spins on a heel and continues her procession towards certain aeronautical doom.

A hiss of a more advanced door than is likely to be in the area sounds, causing him to spin to the left completely off balance in surprise. His eyes flick across to May to check that she’s on top of the new danger but she’s simply walking away to the death trap as the back of a concealed quinjet lowers showing Hunter leaning against the opening with one hip cocked far too confidently, a rogue’s grin gracing his features – “Taxi for The Wonderkid, untraceable and completely off the books as ordered.” He finds himself agreeing with May that Hunter can definitely teach him a few things about the attitude he needs to adopt moving forwards.

 

May! He spins back quickly right, watching as she hands keys over to a tanned male who appears to be local but whose presence probably means he’s an agent of some kind, and hauls herself up into the small plane. He runs quickly towards her, well aware that his uncoordinated limbs aren’t quite making that as easy a journey as it should be to cover the short distance. “May!” he shouts over the noise of the propeller as she keys it to start. His stomach feels tight for her safety when it takes three tries for the engine to kick in to force the old blades to rotate. “I-”

“Take care of yourself, Leo,” she shouts back over the whipping wind as she shoves a helmet down atop her head to keep her hair from flying about, strands playing like tendrils until they’re caught and battened down. “You can’t rescue anyone if you don’t,” she concludes and turns to let the plane start idling away from him.

“MAY!” he shouts again and he knows she can hear even if she doesn’t slow the plane’s motion, doesn’t turn around to face him. “Thank you!” He needs to say it even more than he needs her to hear it. “For everything! Thank you!”

He can hear the smile in her voice despite the fact that he can barely hear her as she turns back to look over a shoulder at him, confirming simply “I’ll see you Tuesday.”

Yeah, she will.

Next Tuesday and the Tuesday after that and the Tuesday after that one too.

He will rescue Jemma.

He knows it now with certainty - with Melinda May on his side nothing is impossible.

They will rescue Jemma. 

 

They start Tuesday.

 

 

x


End file.
